


Only So Much Wine

by Not2be



Category: Company - Sondheim/Furth
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Character Growth, Existential Angst, Existential Crisis, F/M, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Internal Conflict, Relationship(s), Self-Doubt, Vulnerability, bit of a character exploration, possibly bi Robert, self destructive behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-12 00:34:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16862896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not2be/pseuds/Not2be
Summary: Robert is conflicted and reflects on what he wants and what he’s willing to give.





	Only So Much Wine

**Author's Note:**

> The title is based off a song called “So Much Wine” by The Handsome Family. This fic isn’t about alcoholism, and its definitely not as sad as the song.  
> I combined the Aprils from the 2006 Revival and the NPH revival. The Bobby I had in mind was Raul Esparza from the 2006 revival.  
> Thank you for reading!

Robert was determined to keep things light, to be a good time. The night had seemed to slip away from him along with his sobriety. Joanne was normally a good time too, sarcastic and biting. Underneath it all it seemed she was just as fragile and brittle as anyone. She made him realize you could end up with someone who loved you and still doubt it. You could end up with the right someone in the end, but have it not been enough to make up for the scars from all the wrong someones along the way, be bitter and full of regret. Packing her suitcase as a test, needing that reassurance.  He hated the thought of being an Orpheus; not being strong enough to keep from turning his head to look back. He wanted to run from hell, from anywhere without weights tied around his ankles. Larry seemed to pull her back time and again. But did Larry even really love her? Was he just afraid of repeating the regret and mistakes of his father. Do you stay with someone just to stay?

Bobby didn’t want to trap or be trapped like that.

He was afraid of changing and afraid of not changing. He wanted to be alone and was afraid he’d end up that way. Afraid that fear of ending up alone would lead him to end up with just some _body._ Someone who takes up space who demands his space who resents him. Afraid of the coffee going cold and his partner going quiet, just moving around each other.  Being lonely on one’s own is painful but being lonely with another person sitting across from you seems unbearable. A draft from their side of the bed or his.

Afraid of someone

Who asks too much who gives too much who wants to _see_ him.

He was afraid of the inevitable cancer or car crash; nothing is free, including happiness. You always pay eventually, even if they don’t end up hating you, hurting you, or walking away, you love them so much and one day the world takes them away.

He had his reasons for being single still. Or were they excuses? Or were they both?

The ultimate question he had been trying to untangle was: did he not want to get married because he didn’t want to or because he was just afraid.

Was he gay? Did he like men? He was pretty sure he liked women. Could he like both? Sure, he had had a couple of sexual experiences with men as an adult, a couple flirtations, but had he ever been in love with one. Had he ever been in love with a woman? Beyond just the idea of her? Had he ever been in love with anyone?

He suddenly felt very cold.

Eventually he would just tire himself out and put all of the questions back in a box like a mess of tangled Christmas lights and shove it away to deal with at another time. All the questions made him feel (if he let himself look at it too closely) made him feel broken. The choosing had seemed so easy to most other people he knew, even if the choices were not. Except for Amy. Seeing her breakdown like that had made him feel so…uncomfortable but also validated in a way. In the end she made her choice though. She walked out the door umbrella in hand and he remained planted, warm orange juice in his.

Maybe you don’t get to leave this world without heartbreak of one kind or another. Heartbreak of choosing of not choosing, of walking through a threshold you can never walk back through or of never moving at all. The heartbreak of almost and could have, should have been.

Bobby took a deep gulp of the amber liquid in his glass focusing on the burn in his throat and trying not to cough when he came back up for air. He had to drink enough to make the thoughts melt into a pleasant haze but not so much that he was too sick to sleep, stuck in an even darker mood.

Sometimes he felt like he was stuck in a dryer, tumbling in a circle, hot, claustrophobic, watching people live their lives outside the small window as he tumbled over and over. 

He vaguely wondered what kind of damage he was doing to himself drinking the way he had lately; bourbon at night, coffee all throughout the day, little sleep. At least he didn’t smoke, just second hand.

He tried to focus on his meeting tomorrow with…shit what was her name…June? No, April. Yes, April. The blonde flight attendant. That would lift his spirits or be a distraction at the very least.

An airline stewardess, it was perfect. By necessity it was guaranteed she would float easily in and out of his life. No clinging, no room for attachment when your job whisked you away to different states different altitudes. It was easy. And she was great.

He thought about Kathy being so eager to leave New York. Perhaps part of him always knew she would not want to stay here, that’s why he loved her. When she told him, she was moving and getting married, it was all too easy to tell her how he felt when there was no real possibility of them getting together.

She told him ‘I’ll make a good wife’ and that’s exactly what you become when you get married, a husband or wife, being with another person fundamentally changes a part of your identity, it becomes something you have to be good at. Another marker, another test of quality.

Coming out of his thoughts he could hear himself rambling, Joanne’s stare unnerving him. He did that when he was drunk and nervous just to fill the silence. He threw some money down on the table and said bye to Joanne, ignoring her intense gaze as he walked out.

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

She stood in the middle of his apartment in her navy-blue uniform, pale blonde hair done up in a French twist, her cerulean blue eyes wide. She was like a sincerely enthusiastic real estate agent, cataloging the different features of his apartment with wonder. Was she seeing something he didn’t see? Did he reveal something he hadn’t even intended too just by his paint? Were his drapes a reverse Rorschach test?

He felt himself getting short with her and he wasn’t sure why. He supposed he didn’t spend much time in his apartment, he was too busy flitting back and forth between his friend’s homes. Good friend’s homes. Until that became too suffocating; bouncing back and forth wherever there was more air.

“I’ll take it!” He forced a laugh trying to keep the irritable bite out of his voice.

April looked back at him the same way she was studying his apartment moments ago and he almost wished she would go back to discussing how his furniture was arranged. 

He pivoted turning his back to her to walk towards his bed, his dress shoes squeaked on the floor.

 _Keep it light,_ Bobby took a breath before announcing “This is the bed” he gestured grandly.

April hummed happily clasping her hands together. He sat down as casually as possible, now is when he would lay on the charm. He lost track of how many times he had done this routine, like a waltz. Bobby patted the spot next to him, and after a beat April came to occupy the space beside him.

One thing about April he noticed is that she always took her time, her speech and movements all measured and slow. He supposed some people may take that to mean she was air headed, perhaps a bit naïve, but he didn’t think April was stupid. She just…took everything in first and acted second.

Bobby shook his head realizing he had just been staring at an expectant looking April, he cleared his throat somewhat sheepishly.

“Hey”

“Hey”

 _Could I be with you the rest of my life_ he would often think when he was with one of the girls he had been seeing. At night the answer was often maybe, in the morning in the light of day when they were still there, the answer was usually a panicked no.

He started pulling her poke-a-dot neck scarf undone with anticipation. She was beautiful, Rubenesque all curves, hips and breasts. He wondered briefly if she liked her body; in his experience most people resent the thing about themselves that most other people admire or even envy. He undid the buttons of her silk blouse teasingly, completely in control, his hands no longer shook as they would in his younger days; he was well practiced. Her dark blue pencil skirt slid to the floor where their shoes and his blazer were already forgotten.

She left her silk slip on as she fell back onto the bed, maybe he had been right about her being self-conscious.

They kissed and touched for a while before his hand trailed down her side to rest on her lower thigh where the hem of her slip was. He kept steady eye contact with her and paused as he clenched his fingers around it signally his intent to lift the fabric. He waited for her reaction, her consent or refusal; she looked back at him steadily and didn’t move to stop his hand. Bobby slowly lifted the garment up over her hips still looking intently at her face. She swallowed but it seemed more in anticipation than discomfort.

She lifted off the bed, so Bobby could pull it the rest of the way over and off her head. He smiled at her cheekily, both of their eyes hazy with lust.

He leaned down to kiss her stomach but paused at what he found there.  Neat rows of lines, some raised some flat, white and pink. If he hadn’t looked close enough or in the right light, he might have missed them; they were obviously old.

Clearly his hesitation was not lost on her.

“What are these…” He asked before he could come up with a better response or hold back his curiosity. His fingers ghosted over them and she shivered almost imperceptibly. Her touch on his neck got him to turn his attention back up to her eyes, she pulled him in for a kiss.

When he pulled back up, he still felt tense.

“I’m sorry if I overstepped or made you uncomfortable-” He started when she interjected.

“ _I’m_ not.” It seemed honest enough, but he still couldn’t seem to stop himself

“I mean if I did-”

she caught him off guard yet again “What’s my name?”

 _Shit._ He felt his heart thundering in his chest, this is not how he anticipated tonight going.

“June.”

“April.” His eyes must have shown his embracement and panic, because she reached up a warm hand to cup his face gently.

“It’s okay” it wasn’t. “That wasn’t a test, I wasn’t trying to catch you out in something” She wasn’t.

“It’s just that” April shifted slightly and paused “The answer to your question might be a bit heavier than you want, for this sort of thing.”

He looked at her confused until she moved his hand back over her side to remind him what she was referring too.

“Oh.” She smiled shyly back at him.

“I…I’m sorry I..”

“Don’t be, I’m not.” He could tell she was being honest.

He didn’t know if it was because he felt guilty, or defensive, or wanted to prove her wrong about his causal intentions, even if she wasn’t wrong. Or if he genuinely wanted to know but before he could stop himself, he said

“I want to know” He swallowed, _shut up what are you doing_ “If you’re comfortable…”

“I did it.” He didn’t know if he was more shocked by the uncharacteristic brevity of her response or what it meant.

“You what.”

“I did it too myself”

“In…an accident?”

“No…on purpose.”

“On purpose?”

“Yes.”

“But” He leaned back on his heels getting a better look at her face “Why on earth…”

She shrugged “Why do people drink or smoke or run away from things that are good for them.”

“That’s different.”

“Is it?”

“I think it is!” He didn’t know why he was getting so worked up.

“Have you ever done anything that was bad for you, ever did something destructive to yourself because it felt good in the moment, because it was better than feeling whatever the alternative was?” She seemed perfectly calm except for her eyes getting a little shinier.

“I never _sliced_ myself open!” He snapped defensively and gestured wildly in her direction. But as soon as it was out of his mouth, he felt shame like a hot rush throughout his whole body, he hung his head avoiding her eyes.

“Haven’t you?” She cupped his cheek again no trace of judgment or accusation in her voice.

He had tried to fill up his empty with more empty...because the more he did the bigger the void got, the more he had to fill. Because maybe self-sabotage was safer in a way at least he understood when it failed. If he actually tried something real and it failed to make him feel better than what did that say about him.

“We do what we have to too survive even if its not the best for us and hopefully…eventually we move on to better things and start living.”

“And have you…moved on?”

“…I’m working on it.”

Bobby was surprised by the moisture building his eyes, he lay down next to her feeling her warm breath on his neck. It wasn’t as if all his sexual encounters were unfulfilling, but he realized it had been awhile since he had done _this_. Allowed himself just to hold and be held by another person without a pretense. It felt vulnerable. After the comfortable silence stretched on for a while, she said

“I hope my butterfly ended up being okay.”

“Me too.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not super happy with the ending...I may revise it later. oh well, this is like a first (more like 2nd or 3rd) draft I suppose. Thanks again for reading!


End file.
